'I hope he's alive.'
I'm terrified and confused, with a voice whispering negative thoughts in the back of my head.
It's seven in the evening and the whole world is shaking. The plane just crashed into the twin towers, in the States, nine hours away from here.
The people are reeling, yet, right now, there's only a phone in my hand. I'm trembling, as the tinny voice keeps uttering the same words about the line being too busy.
He went away last week, promising he'd be back in a jiffy. He was in the building today, for some hotshot meeting.
My hair is in a mess, my eyes dry and hurting - for the tears won't flow. The news in the background keeps repeating the same clip, only the death toll is increasing.
And with all this, fear is slowly clutching all over my heart, the negative whispers taking slowly over the bright flame of hope, the hope of him being alive.
I wish his wings lift him up, his guardian angels supporting him through and through, trying to keep him on his feet.
I still remember how his arms were around me, our rings poking each other in our backs.
The world is spinning in reverse, my heart is ready to burst. I just want to be with him, in the place that I belong - beside him.
As our faded picture looks down at me from the mantelpiece, his voice comes through, soothing my heart and allowing the tears to finally flow.
'I'm okay. I'm alive. I'm coming back to you.'